


Stockholm

by My_Young_Friend



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-25
Updated: 2009-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 17:30:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Young_Friend/pseuds/My_Young_Friend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"He began to whisper in her ear; lewd descriptions of what she had to look forward to."</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. The Last First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He began to whisper in her ear; lewd descriptions of what she had to look forward to."

This was it, the moment she passed from girlish immaturity to womanhood. It had almost happened once before. She'd been scared then too, but it was different. Then she ran, then she tried to escape. That boy had tried to strip her of her precious innocence, and had killed her in the process. She would never forgive the boy for that. Not for killing her, that didn't really count. But for trying to steal what she should have been able to freely give in love and affection.

She wasn't trying to run now. This time there was no stench of alcohol, no sweaty body was pressing her to the ground. Instead she was standing, pinned to a wall by hands she couldn't see, while he watched her impassively. Invisible blades shredded her clothing until it lay in a pile at her feet. Naked and vulnerable, she closed her eyes and willed herself elsewhere. She knew what was going to happen and that this time there would be no escape.

He began to whisper in her ear; lewd descriptions of what she had to look forward to. She hadn't heard him close the space between them. His acrid breath burned her ear and she flinched away from the sensation. She felt the warmth of physical hands on her, skin crawling as they began to explore. Still held tightly she couldn't react. She wanted to move away from the rough hands touching her, feeling her, invading her.

She didn't dare open her eyes now, screwing them tighter in the hope that if she just tensed enough it would all go away. The thought was quickly discarded as his fingers plunged into her heat. The invasion was indescribable and her muscles tightened painfully. This seemed only to encourage him as he began to move them in and out of her.

She wondered if he would leave her alive if she played along. Could she act the willing whore if her life depended on it? Could she kiss and moan and reciprocate if it meant her survival?

Would she even want to be alive after what he was going to do to her?

With that she reached an epiphany. He was going to kill her; he was always intending to kill her. Since before Homecoming and Jackie, that was all he wanted to do to her. But he didn't want her to die a virgin. And he wouldn't make her live with what he was about to do. In his own twisted way, he was merciful.

She opened her eyes and stared into his…and smiled.


	2. Dying In Public

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He loved for her to die on a high."

He leaned over to whisper in her ear. "Are you ready to die, Claire?"  
"You want to do this here?" It wasn't a protest, just an inquiry. It was barely that. She knew he would do as he wanted.

\--------------

He'd killed her twice already. The first time, he had broken her neck, her abilities having frustrated his efforts to cut her head open. She had woken up a few minutes later to him kneeling over her on the floor. He'd lifted her, gently, and laid her down on the couch. She'd been shaking and he'd stroked her hair, telling her not to move. She'd watched him move to the kitchenette, and as soon as his back had been turned, she'd bolted for the door.

It had been a mistake. The lock had been broken, almost melted in on itself. And as soon as he'd seen the movement, Sylar had been on her. He had grabbed her, physically this time, raising her up to his eye level with one hand wrapped around her throat. He'd looked so angry but she would swear now that he'd also seemed, maybe disappointed?

But of course then she couldn't see the good side of him. She had been so scared she wouldn't let herself see that, yes he did bad things to her, but he was kind too. Now she could see that. It had been over a week since he'd taken her and she could see that now. During the early days he would talk to her, make sure she was aware of exactly what he was doing to her at the time, and what he was planning to do to her. She had thought this was an added cruelty, that he got off on scaring her, but really, it must be that he wanted her to know what was happening. It was for her own good really. It must be.

And after he was done, he would allow her a few minutes to heal and clean herself up before he'd lock her in the small bedroom. He had provided her with an old t-shirt of his to sleep in, and just yesterday he had brought back to the apartment some clothes just for her. She had a bed to sleep in – shared with him, admittedly – and was well fed. In fact she was very lucky, and it was just now that she was beginning to realise how kind Sylar was.

Which was why he had allowed them both a treat. They were to go to the cinema. He had carefully warned her that she was to be not to leave his side at any time. That if she were to do anything he disapproved of, she would be punished. She'd nodded. She knew what was expected of her.

She was presented with a brown wig and hooded coat. It was almost a game, dressing in disguise just to go out. She half expected him to hand her dark glasses and a false mustache. He wrenched the door open telekinetically and melted the lock shut behind him. And she was outside. A small voice in the back of her head seemed to be whispering, begging for attention. Something about escape. She ignored it.

As they had made their way to the cinema, he had explained which movie he had chosen. She hadn't particularly wanted to see 28 Weeks Later, but said nothing. He was a perfect gentleman, never leaving her side, always holding her hand tightly. The voice was still there in the back of her head, Scream, fight, do something, attract attention, DO SOMETHING. But it was stupid, he didn't like attention. She'd learned that when he had slit her throat after she had first screamed for help.

They settled into their seats at the back of the theatre. It looked like a quiet showing, maybe four or five other people in with them. Not unusual for a daytime showing. Maybe that was the point. He still didn't quite trust her not to run. She didn't blame him; only four days before she'd tried to attack him with a kitchen knife. He'd had to show her why that wasn't nice. It had taken hours.

About an hour in, Sylar had whispered in her ear. She knew what he really meant. She looked around them but there was no-one nearby.

"You want to do this here?" She'd whispered back, even as she felt fingers creeping up beneath her skirt.

\------------

Now he grabbed her roughly by the neck and pulled her into a kiss. The position was uncomfortable, the seat-arm between them pressing painfully into her side. Never breaking the kiss, she moved to straddle his lap. The unseen fingers continued their circular motions, moving so slowly now that they were close, torturously close, to her already-drenched panties. His real hands were under her shirt, raking painfully down her ribs. She could feel the warm flow of blood as it streamed down her sides.

He shifted beneath her, one hand reaching for her bra, ripping it downwards and freeing her breasts. One at a time he stroked each nipple until erect, then pinched them. The heady mixture of pleasure and pain caused Claire to arch each and every time. Then the second hand made itself known, tearing away her panties. The fingers penetrated her folds, stroking every part of her glistening quim. A thumb quickly followed, massaging her clit unbearably slowly. He began to thrust first one, then another finger inside her, scissoring them, until she felt too close.

She broke the kiss. "No, stop, not yet, stop please," she panted into his ear.

He usually ignored her when she begged. If he ever reacted, it was to do whatever he was doing more forcefully than before. But this time she felt his fingers withdraw. The thumb sped up its assault, causing her to grind down onto it. A moan escaped her throat and Sylar lunged to catch her bottom lip between his teeth, tearing at it and silencing her with blood-filled kiss.

The thumb disappeared and her whimper of dissent was swallowed by the mouth covering her own. The disappearance was quickly forgotten when Sylar's cock pressed against her folds. She flinched involuntarily and felt herself being held forcefully in place.

The first thrust into her came with no warning. She couldn't contain the groan and Sylar broke off the kiss, covering her mouth with his hand. She could taste herself on those fingers, the ones so recently used to fuck her senseless. They were pressed further into her mouth with every thrust from Sylar. He clamped his hand down so hard she wondered if he would break her jaw. She felt the build up of her orgasm again, wondering how to warn him it was coming. As she felt the point of a knife at the back of her head, she realised he was well aware.

He loved for her to die on a high, had done ever since the second time he'd killed her. He'd wait for her orgasm to build and, just as she climaxed, he would snap her neck or drive a knife into her brain. She didn't know if it turned him on or not but she assumed it did; he wouldn't keep doing it if it didn't.

\---------------

She awoke later in his arms, groggily aware that he was carrying her back to the apartment. Stopping at the door she was released from his arms and leaned against the wall. He melted the lock and pushed it open. She staggered in and turned to see him looking at her, almost appraisingly.

"Perhaps you can be trusted," he said, locking the door behind him.


	3. Kidnap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She was sobbing and begging him to stop, to leave her alone, to take her back. But he just looked at her with confusion. This man who had once been her hero."

She was sobbing and begging him to stop, to leave her alone, to take her back. But he just looked at her with confusion. This man who had once been her hero.

\---------------------------------

He'd burst in two days ago. Sylar had been out and she'd tried to run but Peter had grabbed her. He'd hugged her and told her that everything would be alright, that she was safe. She had been in shock, barely able to respond. She'd shivered and he'd thought it was fear. He had been right, but had no idea it was he who terrified her.

She'd asked how he had found her. She'd left the apartment only twice since this all began, both times in disguise. How had anyone recognised her? Peter babbled something about a media campaign. She had stopped listening as he tried to push her out of the door of the apartment. He'd said that they didn't have much time. That Sylar could be back any minute. She had hesitated in the doorway. She hadn't wanted to leave and had told Peter as much. He had regarded her with disbelief.

"Claire, you're free, he can't hurt you anymore!" He'd stared at her, smiling through his confusion.

"He doesn't hurt me, Peter, he loves me!"

She had screamed at him and he'd shaken his head. He'd tried to make her leave but she'd tried to run. He'd caught her and she'd fought as he'd tried to pick her up, writhing against him, trying to kick and punch him. She had hoped that she could delay him enough for Sylar to return and save her. But Peter had been smarter than that. He'd grasped her around the waist and picked her up bodily. Having telekinetically opened the window to the fire escape, he'd maneuvred the two of them onto the metal staircase. After a quick scan of the surrounding buildings he had flown upwards, Claire still struggling in his grasp.

\-----------------------------------------

Peter had flown her to the Petrelli mansion. Nathan and her grandmother had been there waiting. She hated them; Peter and the rest of his damned family could go to hell.

She had just wanted to go back. They had said she never had to go back. She'd screamed at them to let her go. They'd looked at her sadly and she'd tried to run out of the room they were keeping her in; but invisible hands had caught her and held her still. The gesture had been so familiar that she had begun to weep again. She'd sat, hugging her knees in the middle of the floor, tears flowing as though endless.

She'd heard the clipped tones of her grandmother, telling her they would get her 'treatment'. She didn't want treatment, she'd sobbed, she just wanted to be with him again. Whispered conversation had gone on around her: 'kidnap' 'Stockholm syndrome' 'abuse'. She didn't give a damn what they were saying, she had just wanted them to unlock the door and let her go. He would be so angry when he saw she was gone. She had to get back to him.

\----------------------------------------

This morning she was calmer. Her grandmother had been in earlier for breakfast, over which she had outlined the course of treatment. The woman was just so arrogant, so sure that she knew precisely what was best for everyone. But Claire had remained silent, nodding at appropriate moments. It wasn't until her grandmother had been about to leave that Claire spoke.

"Could I speak to Nathan? And Peter? I…I want to apologise."

Mrs Petrelli had smiled like a trainer after a mutt had performed an unexpected trick. "Of course you may, my dear. I believe Nathan is a little busy but I shall send Peter down."

"Oh, uh," Claire panicked but tried to look disappointed "could you wait until Nathan is free? I really wanted to speak to both of them together."

"It may be a while, dear, he is a congressman after all."

Claire's fingers itched to scratch the patronising expression from the woman's face. Thankfully the woman mis-read her body-language as that of a different kind of frustration.

"Very well my dear, I will see what I can do." Her grandmother sighed as though granting Claire a great favor.

And now a knock on the door signalled that her visitors had arrived. She prepared herself mentally, running through what she would say before calling for them to come in.

Nathan entered first, with Peter following. Nathan walked towards her cautiously while Peter lingered by the door. Her 'father' stopped a few feet from her and seemed unsure of what to do next. Claire decided to make the first move; walking up to him, she hugged him tightly. She forced her tears to begin again as a choked noise came from Nathan. Slowly, his arms came up to wrap around her, returning the hug.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry about what I said, I didn't mean it, I was scared..." Claire babbled everything she could think of, tried to make her words as repentant as possible. It was essential that he trusted her, that he saw her as his little girl. She had to make him think she was sorry and just wanted to be part of the family again.

He brought one of his hands to under her chin and lifted her face. Through her tear-filled eyes she could see the trail a single tear had newly left on his cheek. He cupped her face in his hand and spoke softly to her.

"Claire," he paused.

She wondered what was going through his mind. Not that it mattered, so long as he believed her.

"Claire," he repeated "you don't have to apologise. I don't know what he…" his voice broke off again and it felt to Claire like he was trying to compose himself "Whatever happened, it wasn't your fault. We're going to help you through this. We're going to be here all the way." He smiled at her "I'm going to be here."

Claire breathed a sigh of relief. It was working. She hugged him tightly once more and tiptoed to whisper in his ear "Thank you, Dad." She spoke softly, so that Peter wouldn't hear. Wiping the tears from her face she smiled up at Nathan, her look as pure and sweet as she could manage, and asked if he could wait outside for a moment.

"I need to speak to Peter in private. I…I need to apologise for a lot."

Nathan held up a hand. "You don't need to explain. I'll be outside."

Leaving with a relieved expression, Nathan patted Peter comfortingly on the shoulder. As the door shut, Peter walked towards Claire and began to speak. "You-"

"Did you miss me, Peter?" she cut in, her licentious expression far removed from the innocent look she had given Nathan moments earlier.

Peter looked confused. "Of course I missed you Claire, we all did. I'm so sorry we-"

Claire cut him off, not wishing to hear the same platitudes repeated.

"I know you all missed me Peter, but did you miss me especially?" She added a low tone to her voice, trying to be as seductive as possible. Given Peter's newly awkward stance, it was working.

"Well, yeah Claire, we've been close since Odessa. I was really worried when you went missing."

"Did you miss me at night, Peter?" She searched his face, noting the wince when she purred his name.

"What? What do you mean?" He looked nervously towards the door but Claire was fairly sure their hushed voices couldn't be heard outside.

"Did you think about me at night, Peter?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Peter was a bad liar, and she was growing bored of tiptoeing around the subject.

A low menace crept into Claire's voice. "You know exactly what I mean Peter. I know you do. So let's stop fucking around here!"

Peter's face blanched and he backed up against the wall. So her uncle wasn't a fan of bad language? She smirked; if that was all it took to get a reaction then this was going to be easier than she'd thought.

"I know you want me Peter. You want to fuck me."

Again, a wince. Claire wondered idly whether, this time, it was because of the curse, or because of the way his name was coming out of her mouth.

"You've wanted me for a while now. I've heard you, late at night, in your room, trying to keep quiet."

Peter's face dropped with realisation. He stared at the floor, trying to stutter a response.

"Whatever you're thinking, you're wrong," he said quietly.

Claire took the opportunity to advance on him. Slowly walking forward, she continued her verbal assault.

"You weren't calling my name? You weren't stroking yourself, imagining me naked, gyrating in front of you, on top of you? You didn't imagine fucking me, hard? Your thick cock in my tight. wet. pussy?" She emphasised the last three words and unless she was very much mistaken, Peter had started shaking.

Oh this was too good. She was going to have fun with this.

Closing the gap between them, she tiptoed to whisper in his ear.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice that my cheerleading uniform had gone missing?"

Peter's face snapped up and Claire was mere inches away.

She was looking at him with a predatory expression. "Does it help you feel close to me, Peter? Cumming on my uniform? Does it feel good? Does it satisfy you?"

The panic was so clear in his eyes that she couldn't wait any longer. She pressed herself against him.

"I could satisfy you Peter. I could make you feel so good, Peter."

Peter's eyes were locked on hers, his expression utterly conflicted. She grabbed his hand and guided it to her ass.

"Doesn't that feel better, Peter? Oh wait, you don't need to answer." She ground her hips into him, rubbing herself against the rapidly growing bulge in his jeans. "I know it does."

Something seemed to snap inside Peter, pushing him past breaking point. He grabbed her by the arms, turning to press her against the wall, kissing her so forcefully she gasped. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Peter invaded her mouth. Again, it was a sensation so familiar, but different at the same time. He was more passionate, but not so skilled. Maybe it came with experience, Claire pondered absently.

As he released her mouth to work his way down her jaw and neck, she threw her head back to bang the wall loudly. If Peter heard the noise he didn't care; his trail of butterfly kisses continued. She smiled, and went in for the kill.

She screamed loudly, loud enough to be heard outside the room.

"Uncle Peter!"

As expected, Nathan came bursting into the room, catching them in the act. Peter frozen, his arms still pushing her against the wall, his posture bent from licking her collarbone. She tailored her expression to one of pain and confusion.

It was perfect. Nathan stared at her, then his brother, the look of disgust clear as day. He wrenched Peter away from her and punched him in the face. Using this distraction as her chance, she ran from the room and down the stairs.

She knew the front doors would be locked, and so ran into the front room, smashing her way out through the window. People in the street stared as she rolled onto the sidewalk. Picking herself up, she heard Nathan and her grandmother yelling for her. She ran as fast as she could, hoping to put several blocks between her and the mansion. With any luck, the Petrellis would be too caught up in their fucked-up family to send anyone after her.

As Claire turned back to see if she was being followed, she failed to see the strong arm that grabbed her and wrenched her into a side-street. She struggled briefly before being thrown against the opposite wall. Looking up into deep brown eyes, she calmed down and was released.

"You came for me?" She asked, smiling at Sylar.

"I'm impressed," he said, ignoring the question. "Seducing Petrelli like that, getting him caught by his dear big brother?" he stroked Claire's cheek and she leant into the caress. "That was devious."

"How do you know about that?" She looked up with complete admiration as his hand moved to her back, guiding her down the alleyway.

Sylar didn't answer, merely gesturing to his ears. Claire blushed, embarrassed that she had forgotten his gift.

"So," she said coyly, "did you enjoy the show?"

Again, Sylar didn't answer. Instead he brought his head down to her ear, so close that each breath tickled her.

"If you don't want 'Dad' to catch us, we have to move faster," he whispered.

"But where are we going? We can't go back to the apartment now."

He tilted his head slightly and smiled predatorily at her.

"Do you trust me Claire?"

"Never." She shot back, smirking.

"Good girl," he replied kissing her on the top of her head.


	4. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even when the water was freezing cold, she liked showering. She could forget that she was on the run and just relax for a little while.

 

Claire awoke disoriented. Smoke-stained stucco hung overhead and faded wallpaper covered the walls around her. Propping herself up on her forearms, she scanned the room. The rhythmic breathing beside her drew her attention.

_Oh,_ she thought, settling back down. She'd been so tired the previous night, dozing off periodically in today's stolen car. He must have carried her in when they reached this motel.

A strip of grey light was visible beneath the badly-fitting curtains, suggesting that it was too late to go back to sleep. Sylar tended to get up early so Claire had learnt to do the same. Trying not to disturb her sleeping partner, Claire quietly got out of bed and padded over to her bag. The linoleum beneath her feet was cold and sticky. She shuddered, trying not to think about the cause of said stickiness.

Unzipping her bag, she grabbed the few toiletries she'd found at the gas station. If Claire had anything to do with it, their next stop would be somewhere civilized enough to stock moisturizer, hairspray and a deodorant that didn't work as a deadly weapon in confined spaces.

At least the bathroom here was cleaner than yesterday's. She'd refused to use the shower until Sylar had nuked it. She smiled, remembering how he'd teased her about the big, bad, mould monster coming after her.

The water sputtered out of the shower head irregularly, but at least it was warm. She reached out past the curtain for her shampoo and began to quietly hum to herself. Even when the water was freezing cold, she liked showering. She could forget that she was on the run and just relax for a little while.

Rinsing the shampoo, she reached blindly for the conditioner. Instead her hand fell upon the empty countertop. Clearing her face of suds, she stared at the spot she knew she'd placed the bottle, only to look up and see it floating six inches above. Looking up further still, she saw Sylar, smirking.

"Well someone woke up in a good mood," she joked "any chance I can get my conditioner?"

"Yeah, I'd say there's a chance."

Claire reached out towards the bottle and Sylar pulled it away. She reached again, clutching at the curtain to cover herself. Sylar pulled it away again and Claire pouted. Sylar laughed and guided the bottle to sit on her hair. Claire reached up for it and smiled suggestively. "Want to give me a hand?"

Sylar shook his head. "I have to go out. Be ready to leave when I get back."

Claire's face fell. "Are you-"

"Do you really want to know?"

Claire didn't answer, instead pulling the shower curtain across and reimmersing herself in the lukewarm water.

\-------------------------

Claire sat on her bag outside the motel room, idly wondering which car Sylar would pull up in today. So long as it wasn't a compact she didn't much care, but a convertible might be nice. Surely one of Sylar's…contacts must have money. She absently stroked her fingers through her hair; it had almost dried in the heat while she sat outside waiting for him to return.

Eventually, an old-ish station wagon pulled up beside her. She grimaced, praying to any god listening that it had air-conditioning. The trunk popped and she hefted the bag inside. At least this time there was no sign of blood. She could have killed him for leaving those stained rags in the back that one time. He was just lucky that her bag was dark red.

Opening the passenger door she sighed with relief as a blast of cool air enveloped her.

"I have a surprise for you," said Sylar as she dropped down onto the seat.

"Hmm?" Claire was too busy savouring the coolness of the car, barely noticing that Sylar's arm had once again dropped possessively around her shoulders. He dropped a brown paper bag into her lap. After checking that it wasn't dripping, she opened it.

"What? Where did you get this stuff?" Claire asked, excited.

"Turned out that Mr Pyrotechnic had a lady friend. I found them in his bathroom. I doubt she'll miss them."

Claire shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the air-conditioning. Sometimes he could be so _callous_. Claire tried to be pragmatic about these things. At least now she could sort out her dry skin and scarecrow hair. But it was still discomforting to think that she was using a dead woman's beauty products.

"How far are we going today?" she asked, lazily.

"Not far, Hattiesburg. We'll be there in a few hours."

Claire shifted in her seat and got comfortable. Two hours of no conversation would drag. Sylar didn't seem to get that she hated hearing about his _trips_, and he seemed incapable of talking about anything else for hours afterwards. Leaning her head against the window, she watched the landscape shooting past. Maybe he could get her an I-Pod next time.

\-------------------------

"Great, another day, another crappy motel." Claire snarked as they pulled into the Econolodge. "You reckon this place might have a floor that was cleaned in the last century?"

"Yes Claire," snapped Sylar back "now, when we're lying low from _your_ family is _exactly_ the right time to start complaining."

Claire huffed. "Fine, just get us a room. This humidity is gonna kill me."

Sylar looked like he was about to say something but stopped, getting out of the car and stalking into the lobby.

Opening the door, the stickiness of a warm Mississippi day clung to Claire. She leaned back against the door to catch her breath, grateful that today's clothing choice had included a strappy top and shorts.

She saw Sylar smiling at her as he left the lobby, keys swinging from his fingers. Sweetly, she smiled back, assuming that he was admiring her posture. She contemplated posing on the hood of the car but was frustrated when Sylar headed straight for the trunk. _Great_, she thought, _my one bit of fun today and he won't even play along_. Claire's mood darkened as she snatched her bag out of the trunk.

As Sylar lead the way to their room, Claire fumed silently. She was 17 years old and her life revolved around dirty rooms, stolen cars and a serial killer who had apparently lost his sense of fun.

"God, what did you do, ask for the most remote room they had?" she bitched, after a few minutes of walking down dingy hallways. Sylar stopped abruptly and opened the door to their new room. Claire stamped in after him, throwing her duffel bag to the floor. Before she could vocalize her next complaint, she was thrown viciously against the wall, pressure against her throat restricting her breathing.

"Enough!" Sylar snarled at her from across the room. Claire struggled to draw breath as he began to approach her. Her fingers clawed futilely at thin air as a light-headed sensation crept over her.

Pushing her hands down, Sylar stroked her throat and the pressure lessened, enough for Claire to gulp down a breath.

"You have done nothing but whine and bitch for the past three days. I should leave you here, call uncle Peter to come and get you, is that what you want?" His voice was quiet but dripping with menace.

"No," wheezed Claire, eyes bloodshot from the effort of breathing.

"Are you sure Claire?" Sylar's tone had changed, smugness replacing menace. "You sure you don't want uncle Peter here? You two seemed to have fun last time you met."

Sylar was smirking now, laughing at her. She glared at him, pride flaring: _no-one_ laughed at her. Sylar changed tack. He lowered his voice and began to whisper in her ear.

"We both know Peter is a twisted _fuck,_" he whispered, hot breath curling around Claire's ear as he emphasised the fuck, "thinking naughty thoughts about his sweet, young, cheerleader niece. But what about you Claire? How do you feel?"

"I…what are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb, Claire. Not with the man who decides whether you can breathe or not." For emphasis he squeezed at Claire's throat, releasing it as she started to choke. "When you heard him, when you realized what he was doing, in your room, on your uniform, what did you think?"

Claire stared straight at Sylar defiantly, even as her eyes glistened with tears of shame.

"I thought…I wished he wasn't my uncle." Claire all but spat the words. "Happy?"

"Very." Sylar laughed quietly. "Now it's your turn."

"What?"

"How would you like me to make your wish come true?"

Claire was getting bored of this little game and her patience finally snapped. "Do you ever make sense?"

"Sorry, little Claire. I'll spell it out for you. You tell me what you want uncle-hero to do, and we'll do it. Just pretend I'm Peter.

"That's…so wrong," said Claire, eliciting further laughter from Sylar.

"That wasn't a no, though, was it?"

There was a heavy pause, eventually broken by Claire. "No, that wasn't a no."

"Good enough."

For the first time in several minutes, Claire felt threadbare carpet below her feet. Sylar backed away and cocked an eyebrow. "Do you start, or does he?"

"Well, it usually starts with him telling me that he's adopted so that this isn't-"

"Uh-uh," Sylar waved a finger in warning, "tell me what _uncle_ Peter would do."

Claire leapt, hands clawing at Sylar's shoulders, dragging he head down to her level. Her mouth brushed his and she ran her tongue along his lower lip. "You are sick," she teased the mouth open, "and twisted," she bit heavily into Sylar's bottom lip, "and so wrong."

A metallic taste hit her tongue as she realize she'd bitten too hard. But here he was, taking it almost passively. A part of her wondered whether this was part of him 'playing Peter'. Sylar probably thought of him weak and unassertive. But a growing part of her wondered whether this was what _he_ actually wanted. Either way she was going to make him work for it.

Her hands moved up from his shoulders to curl around the nape of his neck and into his hair. Gently she massaged the base of his skull. Claire hadn't realize how tense Sylar's jaw had been until it loosened; she plunged further in, tongue stroking and flicking everywhere. Just when he seemed most relaxed, she pulled his head sharply downwards, breaking the kiss. Sylar staggered slightly before falling to his knees. Her eyes never left his face, focusing on his bleeding lip, his surprised expression and the flash of utter lust in his eyes.

Standing feet taller than Sylar now, Claire leaned down and kissed him again, deeper than before. Pausing for breath, she felt an electric thrill shoot up her spine to see him panting and kneeling before her.

"Undress me, _Peter_." If she hadn't been watching for it, Claire would have missed the look of unadulterated hatred at the use of her uncle's name. Well that settled it, this definitely wasn't about Peter anymore.

Claire watched as her tank-top began to creep up her body of its own accord.

"No," she snapped "I want to feel you."

The top hovered in position for a moment and then fell back into place. Long, hot fingers crept along her stomach, catching the hem of all that separated her from toplessness.

Slowly, torturously so, they made their way up her sides, brushing her ribs as they went. Claire closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply, her head rolling to the side when the fingers stroked up the sides of her breast. Lifting her arms she felt the warm air of the room surround her torso.

The fingers returned, pulling at the waistband of her shorts. She leaned down into another kiss, as deep as the last but more hurried, more desperate. Claire began to lose her composure, tearing at Sylar's cotton wife-beater, barely noticing what his hands were doing. She pulled away to remove the offending top, placing her newly exposed breasts inches from Sylar's face.

He made no efforts to resist temptation; as he mouthed around first one and then the other, his hands crept up from the pool of shorts and panties at Claire's feet. Thumbs rubbed gentle circles up the insides of Claire's legs as the movement was mimicked by Sylar's tongue, circling around but not quite touching her over-sensitive nipples.

As his fingers reached the back of her knees, he blew gently across the rosy peaked tips and Claire clutched his shoulders for support. This seemed to spur Sylar on, as he finally closed his mouth over the straining bead. Rough thumb pads drew larger and larger circles up Claire's thighs as he flicked, worried and toyed with her nipples, each in turn until she was moaning incoherently.

A rough finger was dragged over her clit and Claire panted "No! Stop!"

Sylar released her breast and looked up to her. Claire leaned down and rested her forehead against his as she reined in the last of her self-control. For a while, all that could be heard in the room was their breathing. Finally, Claire lifted her head and opened her eyes.

"Eat me" she breathed.

The flash of lust returned to Sylar's eyes and he began to gently tongue his way down Claire's stomach. Holding her firmly at her hips, he teased her navel, circling it just as he had her breasts before, then plunging his tongue inside. Claire was beginning to wish that she had a wall to lean against, but it was too late as Sylar continued his path downwards. Just as he reached he slit, he looked up, smiling wickedly and dove in.

There was no gentle teasing now; Sylar's movements were fast and forceful, raking her already sensitive sex with tongue and teeth, roughly sucking on her clit then thrusting his tongue in and out of her core.

The sensation was too much, Claire felt herself falling and screamed "Stop! Stop Sylar! Fuck, please god, fuck!"

The mouth was removed and Claire fell to the floor, Almost immediately Sylar was on top of her, the scratchy fabric of his pants rubbing against her as he nudged her legs further apart. She groaned in appreciation, barely registering the noise of the zipper before she felt him inside her. She was too far gone to care and a few deep thrusts later her body tensed and she convulsed through her orgasm.

Two thrusts later Sylar followed and collapsed beside her. Again the room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing.

"If I'd known," panted Claire "that you liked being pushed around, I'd have done it _weeks_ ago."

Sylar turned to look at her. "I don't" he answered with a steely glare. "I was _pretending_ to be your _uncle_. Passive little Peter."

"Sure it wasn't submissive Sylar?" Claire giggled.

Sylar leaned over and pinned Claire's arms. His expression was anything but amused. "I am _not_ submissive." His tone was cold and angry; in her post-orgasmic high Claire found this even more amusing.

"Your mouth says no, but your cock says 'Yes Mistr-'"

"Shut up!" Sylar yelled, his face inches away from Claire's, jolting her back to reality.

"For god's sake, it was just a joke!" She huffed, trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

"You like jokes, huh," said Sylar, menace still prevalent in his voice. "I've got a great one. There's a blonde, a hero and an anonymous phone call in it."

"What are you talking about," said Claire, still struggling.

"Did you ever wonder how your beloved family found you Claire? Or how lucky dear uncle Peter was that I was out? Or how I knew to be in that back alley?"

As realization began to hit Claire, she wrenched her limbs around more viciously. It was futile as Sylar held her firmly and began to laugh.

"I called them Claire," Sylar gloated. "I told them where to find you, but hey," his expression turned mean and twisted, "it was just a joke."

Claire froze, torn between feelings of fury and betrayal as Sylar lifted himself up and retrieved his wife-beater, Zipping himself back up, he grabbed his wallet and left the room. Claire curled up on the floor, hugging her knees.

\--------------------------------

Several hours later Sylar returned to find a demure Claire, head bowed, sitting on the side of the bed. She heard him shut the door carefully and looked up at him.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I shouldn't have teased you. It was…I dunno, immature." He was studying her carefully and she decided to plunge onwards.

"I, uh, I went out and got us some food. I wasn't sure if you'd have eaten or not, so I got you a sandwich and some chips…" Claire knew she was rambling even as she held out the limp, store-bought sandwich. "There's some beer as well but," the smell of alcohol was coming off Sylar in waves "I guess you've already had some."

She smiled nervously when Sylar took the sandwich. "So," he asked, eyebrow raised "is the mayo laced with arsenic or cyanide?"

Claire smiled with relief, he'd forgiven her. "Neither, I swear; no cyanide, no arsenic. I wouldn't even know where to get them!" She waited for Sylar to finish the sandwich before getting up and walking over to him.

"I did think of another way I could make it up to you," Claire murmured, seductively. She placed a hand on his chest and dragged it slowly downwards.

"Really?" Sylar mimicked her salacious smile "And what could that be?"

"Well why don't you lie down on the bed and I'll show you." Claire's tongue flickered out of her mouth to lick her lips. Sylar needed no further prompting and made his way to the bed, staggering a little and falling rather than lowering himself down. The smile seemed fixed to his face.

"You feeling relaxed, Sylar?" Claire's face was the picture of innocence.

"Yuuh," Sylar slurred. His expression changed, he looked confused. He stared at Claire, eyes straining as he attempted to focus.

"You were right, you know. These motels aren't that bad." Claire lay down on her side next to Sylar, as he struggled to turn his head to face her.

"In fact, you know what's really great about seedy places like this?" Her voice became a mocking parody of a hyper teenager. "You can get anything you want, right outside. Only took me ten minutes to score some GHB. Heard of it? We were taught all about it at school. Did you like your sandwich, only I heard the powder can be kinda salty and I did put kinda a lot in."

Having finally managed to turn his head to face her, she could see the variety of expressions crossing his features. Shocked and angry seemed to be most prevalent, but beneath all of them was an undercurrent of doped.

"I guess it's kicking in now, huh? Quick, ain't it? I'll bet it's scary, not being able to move, not being able to focus. You'll start feeling sleepy soon and then you'll pass out. I'll wait 'til then, but I won't be here when you wake up. If you wake up. I did give you rather a lot after all!" Claire giggled and then her face hardened.

"No more games, no more jokes, Sylar. You won't find me again."

Sylar's eyelids began to flutter; he was obviously fighting the effects but his dilated pupils betrayed him. He tried to look one at Claire one last time before losing consciousness.

Claire packed quickly, taking all the money in Sylar's wallet and emptying everything out of the duffel bag except a change of clothes and her toiletries. Her mother would be amazed to see just how lightly she could travel these days. Hoisting the lightweight bag onto her shoulder, she bent down and pressed a last, brief kiss on Sylar's cheek. She knew he'd be furious when he awoke and a small smile crept across her lips. Some small compensation, then, for the shit he'd put her through over the past week.

Quietly, hoping to attract as little attention as possible, Claire closed the door behind her and walked away from the motel. Scanning the road, she searched her bag for a coin.

"Heads north, tails south," she muttered to herself, rummaging through the detritus of tissues and old receipts. Her fingers closed around what felt like a dime as a truck pulled up beside her. A grey-haired man wound down a window.

"Need a lift, miss?"

"Sure do," Claire answered, shading her eyes from the sun setting behind the truck. She smiled sweetly up at the trucker.

"Where you headed?" The man opened the door to let her climb in. She threw her bag ahead of her and climbed up the ladder.

The old Claire would have politely refused. The old Claire would have been too scared to accept a lift from a strange man. But she was dead.

The new Claire knew that there was nothing this man could do to her. She buckled up and sat back in the seat.

"Anywhere."


End file.
